A Necessary Evil
by Spindleshanking
Summary: When musicians bargain with dark forces for limitless talent, the soul is the customary currency. The Pied Piper is rather put out when Rumplestiltskin does not accept this as a valid form of payment.
1. Exposition

**A/N:** As a music major, I feel I should apologize in advance for any musical anachronisms that appear in the telling of this story but in my defense, a handful already exist in the show. Also, I will master writing Rumplestiltskin even if it kills me. So far, he's winning.

* * *

Legend said he would appear at your most desperate hour. Others said you could conjure his presence by speaking his name thrice. William of Hamelin had lived too long to believe in men professing cure-all solutions to life's problems but they said this creature who governed kings and beggars wasn't a man but a monster. Monsters he believed in; monsters he'd seen.

Standing on the edge of the Eternal Forest under the full moon, a middle-aged man pulled his ratty, multi-colored overcoat tighter around his shoulders to shield himself from the burst of late-autumn air rattling the brittle leaves in the dead branches nearby. Long blades of grass crunched under thinning leather soles as he paced the field trying to summon the requisite courage to invoke the monster, all the while fiddling with the buckles of the hard leather case under his arm. He knew the longer he waited, the more likely he would flee back to his wretched rented garrett at the tavern with his tail between his legs. So he whirled around and choked out the name in a hoarse voice that cracked on the first syllable.

"Rum-Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin."

A stiff breeze gusted across the clearing as though in response to William's call. A shiver ran through him, unrelated to the chilly weather. How long was he supposed to wait? None of the rumors or folklore was clear on that point. He pivoted haltingly on the spot, casting a paranoid stare over his shoulder towards the town's distant pinpricks of light on the horizon.

"Well, well, well! Aren't we tedious, _William?_ " spoke a pinched, nasally voice from the treeline, enunciating the name as though it was quaintest thing ever heard.

The man in question whirled around with his heart in his throat, gawking into the wooded darkness as a black shape on a tree branch dropped silently to the ground. It slowly rose from a crouch to its full height, then crept out into the moonlight in a graceful movement to reveal a thin, golden-skinned man clad in a costly suit of silk and black leather. Yellow, reptilian eyes slowly roved over the poorly-dressed man in what was unmistakably a once over. It was a gaze that seemed to penetrate the soul and weasel out the deepest secrets William couldn't admit to even to himself.

"What can I do for you?" Rumplestiltskin asked. The imp's rotting teeth glinted as thin lips pulled back into a saucy grin.

Suddenly the dire problem so debilitating to William's existence seemed too ridiculous to articulate. It took him a moment to find his voice, which appeared to have evaporated into the night. "Ah, well... ah, I'm... I'm a musician by trade and..."

Rumplestiltskin made a vaguely impatient, circular gesture with his hand.

William sucked in a deep breath before dragging a palm down his face and starting again. He couldn't meet the imp's gaze and stared instead at the gold scales on his throat . "I'll be straight with you. I'm... mediocre at best and I just can't cut it anymore. Economy what it is, it's not paying the bills these days and it's not like I can just drop everything and learn a new trade. If I were younger, maybe, but I'm not. I need an edge."

"Have you tried practicing harder?" William couldn't decide if he heard scorn, mockery, or both in Rumplestiltskin's voice.

"Of course I have," William snapped, already regretting his tone as the words left his mouth. He took another deep breath. "Look, it doesn't matter how long or well you practice. I work twice as hard as anybody and for what? Sometimes you just... plateau." They were vile excuses and he knew it.

"Why not work the fields?" The imp's arms crossed over his chest, tapping grey claws against his upper arm. "Hands are always needed this time of year, skilled or not."

Again, another option William had once considered and dismissed almost immediately. "Do you know what manual labor could do to me? What happens if I break a hand? I'd be ruined." After a beat, he finally met Rumplestiltskin's eyes, emboldened by increasing frustration. "Look, can you help me or not?"

"You really are determined, aren't you?" Rumplestiltskin mused, walking towards the musician in slow, measured steps. "Fear not, I can help you through your little _plateau_ ." With a grin, he thrust a gold finger to the sky and continued in an exasperatingly sing-song voice. "I can make you play music to make men weep, soothe the beasts, and even the rocks and trees to dance. But, ah... all magic comes with a price, of course."

Such a prospect inspired an indecent thrill to run William length and breadth and his heart to patter like a lovesick schoolboy's. That was far better than anything he'd dare to bargain for. His reply came in an eager, breathless rush. "Yes, that will do nicely. So at what cost? My soul?"

The night air was suddenly filled with Rumplestiltskin's grotesquely childish giggling. "My, my, we've got a high opinion of ourselves, don't we? What would I want with your soul? You make it sound as if it was worth having."

William's face burned and he held his ground, hands still thrust in his pockets. "Fine. What then?"

"What then, _indeed!_ "

Only a few feet away now, the imp began to stroll a lazy circle around the musician, humming and tutting. William could feel that invasive gaze upon him once more. He willed himself calm and still. It rather rankled him that his soul wasn't considered valid currency. Musicians always sold their souls to a dark power for limitless talent. Penniless, talentless hacks such as himself had little else to barter with. Everybody knew that. That was simply the done thing. His stomach churned as he considered for the very first time that Rumplestiltskin might turn him away. Just his luck.

After a few seconds, the imp stopped to stand directly in front of him and with a childish giggle, brazenly reached out to adjust one of William's frayed lapels.

"Tell you what," he cooed. "You'll owe me a favor."

William didn't realize he'd been holding his breath and let out an embarrassingly audible sigh of relief.

"Do we have a deal~?" Rumplestiltskin asked gleefully.

"Absolutely." The giddy rush that ensued almost made him dizzy.

"Marvelous." Rumplestiltskin clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly. "Now let's have a look at this long-suffering instrument, shall we?"

Obediently, William grabbed his case and began to undo the buckles with trembling fingers. It popped it open with a creak and he offered up his pride and joy to Rumplestiltskin, who gently took the exquisite rosewood pipe with both hands and looked it over. The moonlight shone dully on the lacquered surface.

"What a lovely instrument!" Rumplestiltskin exclaimed, holding it aloft and causing the owner a quiver of instinctive anxiety.

William's voice was soft. "It was my father's."

"I'm sure he's very proud."

William dropped his eyes, jaw jutting as he held his tongue, then returned his gaze to the grinning imp. Without any sort of warning or flourish, a wave of nearly imperceptible, colorless energy rippled across his instrument from reed to bell. The disappointingly prosaic process took less than two heartbeats.

"And there you are, dearie. One enchanted pipe!" Rumplestiltskin sounded quite pleased with himself and handed the pipe back with the same reverence with which he took it. William noted with vague disappointment that it felt no different in his hands than before.

"...Thank you," he murmured, suddenly overwhelmed by a wild urge to hear what musical talent capable of enchanting rocks and trees sounded like, and-perhaps most importantly-verify the sorcerer had done as promised.

"We'll keep in touch, Pied Piper," Rumplestiltskin said with a broad, rotten smile, and began to stroll back towards the Eternal Forest with a skip in his step. By the time William fetched a new reed from his case, the imp was gone.


	2. Development

Six months glided by in an endless waltz of opportunity. Rumplestiltskin was as good as his word and William did not regret his deal with him for a single instant. From the first gig after the enchantment, the name of William of Hamelin and word of his supernatural talents travelled on the lips of all who heard him: first from the barmen and tavern owners, then to the artisans and merchants, until finally reaching the blessed ears of the aristocracy. Everywhere there flowed whispers of a man whose music cured all ills, could lift the spirits or crush them if he so chose; music unlike any ever heard. Where had this prodigy been, people asked. Travelling, he said, and perfecting his art among the fairies and sirens.

Some who had known the piper in his younger years were suspicious and voiced the opinion that his performances were unnatural, that no man could play like this without some sort of assistance. Furthermore, they knew this man. He was lazy and undisciplined. It was utterly impossible for anyone-especially him-to begin playing this well seemingly overnight. Like any serious artist, William entertained their criticism, to which his response was unfailingly the same: "Perhaps you should practice more." But in spite of his flippancy, every word against him stoked the nameless anxiety scuttling in the back of his mind. Every note he played was borrowed and he tried to forget that fact. Drink and gold went a long way on that count. But if it was really that important, wouldn't Rumplestiltskin have already come calling?

By the time the cherry trees blossomed that spring, William had forgotten what it felt like to sleep in damp hay and eat the hard black bread of peasants. For once in his life, he became accustomed to the luxury of knowing from where his next meal would come. Now he could devote his mind to pressing matters such as whether he ought to accept patronage from the Duke of the Westlands or whether the offer from the Merchant King of the North Country suited him better. Either choice would ensure comfort, room, and board for the rest of his life.

He could get used to this sort of thing. In fact, he had.

Tonight, William of Hamelin had sought refuge from the wind and rain in a tavern. It wasn't bad as far as taverns went, full of warmth, light, and stuffy air that smelled of food, booze, and the unwashed masses. A fiddler, a viol player, and tabor player already played on the stand, and during the break, he had introduced himself. To William's gratification, they had ushered him eagerly into the group, just to indulge them with a number or two. After all, he couldn't possibly deny them the opportunity to hear him. And so he played whatever he pleased because whatever pleased him would please even the most discerning listener.

The instant he had completed the first phrase of his theme, an eerie hush fell over the tavern as conversations died mid-word and attention redirected itself towards the piper on the stand, who dressed like a lord and played like a god. Later, no one could say what exactly they heard him perform that night and no one would agree as to whether it was a merry gavotte or a lovesick melody, just that whatever they heard soothed their soul. For an audience to listen with such rapt attention was an unheard-of luxury. Music served only as background diversion for socialization or an impetus to dance, after all. At first, it was unnerving; now, he couldn't imagine going back.

It was then that William hit his first wrong note in six months. It rang strange and horrible in his ears in spite of the rapid line he continued to play. His suddenly sweaty fingers slipped and another popped out like a spooked horse, this time earning a few pointed looks from a huddle of dwarves in the corner who he didn't think were listening in the first place. Panic burst across his body, but he recovered quickly and disengaged his mind before he became aware of every irrelevant detail in the room and sabotaged the rest of the performance.

When he reached the final cadence, the handful of active listeners offered a smattering of applause before degenerating back into disorienting babble. A few handfuls of coins bounced and collected at his feet, which he scarcely noticed. Around him, his fellow musicians murmured approvingly amongst themselves, but William could barely smile for the unease creeping back to the forefront of his mind.

The magic was wearing off.

Not that it anyone seemed to notice... this time. But what if it happened again? Certainly they would then. His mistakes returned to haunt his ears and his heart started to pound uncomfortably. How long would it take before the magic deteriorated enough to catch the attention of even mundane ears?

The silver-haired fiddler clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. "Excellent work if I may say," he said with a grin that William weakly returned. "Hope I get the chance to hear you again. Thrilling, just really, really thrilling."

"Yeah, it was great. I hope so, too," he replied, all the while extricating himself from the man's company. "If you could excuse me..."

As quickly as he could, he collected up his earnings, then disassembled his pipe and packed it away before another of their cadre could approach him. He was the first to abandon the stand and the first to disappear into the grungy crowd, ignoring the heads that turned his way with their magically-induced looks of adoration. For once, he couldn't stand the sight of them. He kept his eyes lowered to the straw-littered ground until he reached the bar, and even then he couldn't bring himself to look up when the tender asked him to pick his poison.

"Pint of bitter..." he murmured, dropping onto a stool and running a hand through his hair. When it arrived, he set into it immediately, trying not to notice the tabor player attempting to catch his eye a little further up the bar.

William couldn't stay here. The air was too oppressive now and if he didn't get out soon, he would suffocate from shame and failure. Once he'd had his drink (or three), he'd carry on through the night to the next town. Damn the weather. Any brigand or bandit who attempted to stop him would find themselves dazed and glassy-eyed in the road. ...Unless the magic was evaporating that quickly. Then _he_ would be the one dazed and glassy-eyed in the road, probably even dead. All of the sudden, William was beginning to remember what it was like to hate his life and he did not appreciate this intrusion.

William was halfway through his mug when he heard a pretty female voice from behind. "You play very nicely."

He glanced over his shoulder and spied a ginger barmaid whose shapely form left him briefly unable to feel any part of his body.

Ignoring the sudden urge to run and hide, he answered with a careful smile. "I like to think so."

"My name is Sarah."

"William of Hamelin."

"Yes, I know. I've heard of you."

"Have you? Nothing good I hope." He followed up with what he hoped was a roguish wink.

If it missed the mark, she didn't laugh. Instead she sidled a little closer, licking her lower lip slowly. "You know, my sister once knew a horn player. She said they've got really talented mouths... Or something like that. What about pipers? Are they any good?"

His stomach flipped while the room grew hot. "They might be," William mused with an artless grin, gripping the handle of his nearly-empty tankard to disguise his trembling hand. "Why? Are you interested in a private performance?"

Sarah's giggle was warm and rich and her bright, coy smile shone brilliantly. "I might be." His stomach flipped again.

And then as if on cue, he suddenly heard a childish, nasally voice behind him that shattered his evening's plans to pieces.

"My, my, my, this looks cozy."

It was pointless to look over his shoulder to identify the speaker. It was confirmation enough to feel Sarah start beside him and take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his upper arm. Only one voice in this world provoked his heart to leap and stop like that. William's gaze fell back to his beer and he gulped the rest down.

In one smooth movement, Rumplestiltskin slid onto the stool beside him and placed a clawed hand on William's shoulder that was so unexpectedly gentle his stomach contracted uneasily. The piper looked to the man's face, which was heavily shadowed beneath a dark hood. All he could see of it was his scaly gold skin and an angular smirk.

"Oh no, he's spoken for, dearie," the sorcerer purred and canted his head towards the busty barmaid. Unfortunately for William, Sarah caught the hint and turned a sympathetic smile upon them both.

"My mistake, sir," she tittered to Rumplestiltskin, although less warmly than before, as though the imp's presence sucked all joy and good feeling from the room. "Hope I've warmed him up for you.." She eyed them both meaningfully, then disappeared off in the direction of the kitchen.

When she'd gone, William fixed Rumplestiltskin with a weak glare. The imp was sipping from a hip flask seemingly produced from thin air, devoid of interest or remorse.

"I had a shot with her, you know."

Rumplestiltskin immediately laughed at this in such a way that the piper's face burned red.

"So are you actually here for a reason?" William snapped.

"Oh, yes, that." Rumplestiltskin smothered a last, errant giggle, then regained his composure immediately. "I just wanted to make sure you were happy with your newfound career. It seems to suit you well..."

"The enchantment is wearing off." It felt good to say it aloud, albeit very softly.

"Yes, I thought it might. So I'm here to collect."

The nagging feeling that had troubled the piper daily for six months burst into cathartic flame. He felt his face tighten.

"Why don't we move this somewhere private, mmm?" Rumplestiltskin suggested in a dark purr, only it wasn't really a suggestion. So William ordered another drink (something stronger this time), grabbed his instrument case, and followed Rumplestiltskin across the tavern to an unoccupied table in a dark alcove as far from the main door as possible. The crowd parted as they walked, yet William got the eerie feeling that they could no longer be seen nor heard or even noticed.

The imp quickly claimed the corner chair and comfortably arranged himself in the shadows, which left William sitting across from him with his back uncomfortably exposed to the rabble. "You hold up your end of the bargain and the magic will return, strong as ever," he said.

William was eager to complete the transaction as soon as possible. He set his drink down between them and took a deep, calming breath. "Fine. What do you want from me?"

Rumplestiltskin smiled reassuringly. "Oh, it's nothing of consequence. Just bring me the children of Hamelin."

"Well alrigh-er, wait, I'm sorry...what." William leaned across the table, attempting to shake off the feeling that he'd heard something completely reasonable. "Children?"

Rumplestiltskin's tone remained cheerful. "Yes, dearie, children! You know-wee things with big eyes and soft skin? Have a tendency to grow up all too soon? I'm certain you've seen them about." He waved his fingers vaguely towards the tavern's occupants and William went cold in spite of the stifling atmosphere.

"Why do you need children?" he asked carefully.

Rumplestiltskin bared his sharp, rotten teeth in a dangerous smile. "That's my business. Nothing for you to worry about. So do we have a deal?"

"I... I don't know." William ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "When you said I'd owe you a favor, I'd imagined..." Actually he wasn't certain what he had imagined, but kidnap hadn't made the list.

"Did you really think it would be that easy?" The imp tutted at him with a sad shake of his head.  
"I don't think you appreciate how much magic is required to imitate genuine musical talent, dearie. The trade is more than fair, I think..."

"All right." William took a breath, mentally scrabbling for a grasp of the situation. "All right. I'm not saying I'm agreeing to this, but if I were..." He stared into the darkness that was Rumplestiltskin's hood, trying to find his eyes, trying to read his face, trying to call his bluff, but he could see nothing. "How many of them would there be? The children, I mean?"

"About, oh... one hundred and thirty. So basically all of them."

The piper leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms against the edge of the table while he felt his head spin and the room grew colder. "So many..."

"I must warn you, Willy, that if you are even _thinking_ about breaking our deal-" William tossed back a gulp of his drink as he felt Rumplestiltskin's eyes burning into him. "-I can guarantee with one hundred percent certainty that you will lose more than just my little spell. You see, all magic comes with a price. I'm just the broker." The imp spread his hands helplessly in a way that might have been compassionate were it not for the wicked pleasure William heard in his voice. "And trust me, you don't want to see what happens when l let magic take what magic is due."

"What do you mean, lose more than just the spell? What will happen?" His voice rose uncomfortably.

Rumplestiltskin giggled. "Let's just say you'll never make music again, good or bad."

Cold sweat dripped down the back of William's neck and he pressed his hands tightly between his thighs as though that would protect them from whatever horrible calamity looming vaguely in his future. "So why Hamelin? What have they ever done to you?"

"Like I said, all magic comes with a price," the imp repeated, cryptic and nasty, but this time William got the feeling Rumplestiltskin wasn't talking about him.

"Look, I've got family there. You're seriously not asking me to kidnap my own kin." He was babbling now. "I have cousins not more than ten or eleven years old. Second cousins, too. Hell, I'm practically related to half the bloody town-!"

"Marvelous," Rumplestiltskin interrupted, rubbed his hands together. "This sort of thing is much easier when they know the, ah, _agent_."

William swallowed down a rising sense of disgust and hysteria. "How am I even supposed to accomplish this? They're bound to recognize me!"

"Oh, it'll be easy enough. On the next new moon, enter the town." The imp walked his fingers over the sticky wood to illustrate. "Then take out your pipe and play whatever you like, just make sure you continue playing until all the children have crept from their houses into the town square. After that, lead them out to this clearing, just right here." He touched his finger to the table and beneath it, in a puff of smoke, appeared a meticulous map on parchment, marked in a large, black X. "Wait for me there and I will take care of the rest. Bring the children and I'll renew the enchantment. Cross my heart, hope to die."

Then he slid the map towards the piper, who stared down at it without really seeing it.

"And what happens if I don't?" William's voice came out small and pinched. "What if I tell them what you're planning? What if I warn them?"

"Who said you'll be able to?" Rumplestiltskin's lips pulled back into one, last rancid smile followed by an indecent giggle. "Wear your pied coat and they won't even see you coming." He got to his feet, but before he walked away, he stopped to pat the piper affectionately on the shoulder. "You have until the next new moon, Pied Piper. Otherwise..." The imp sucked air through his teeth while he shrugged in yet another parody of sympathy.

Unable to pull his heart from his stomach, William simply held his head in his hands and out of the corner of his eye, he watched Rumplestiltskin disappear into the crowd like a ghost.

Bandits and brigands were sounding incredibly tempting right now.


End file.
